Cold Revenge
by Rae-Prite
Summary: -Book 3 in the Beth Hardy saga- Tim is in custody, the trial is approaching, and Beth is so close to having a normal life. Then Tim makes a startling revelation - he wasn't working alone. Now Joe, Frank and Beth must race to find the truth and put the past to rest once and for all. But what is Beth still hiding from her family? Full Summary Inside. Please review.
1. Splash Page

**Author's Name: **Rae Prite

**Title of Story: **Cold Revenge

**Type of Story: **AU

**Rating of Story: **O

**Characters in Story: **F, J, L, Fe, V and OC's Beth and various bad guys

**Warnings: **Language, violence

**Plot Blurb: **The trial is approaching swiftly, and it looks like Beth's past is going to finally be put to rest. That is until Tim Taylor makes a startling confession: He wasn't working alone. As the Hardys race to find the truth, will they find it in time before someone else goes missing? And is Beth still hiding secrets from her family?

**Splash Page: **"What do you want with Beth?" Frank demanded, putting a protective hand on Joe's shoulder.

The Russian smiled callously. "Ah, ah, ah… no questions. You'll find out soon enough when you meet our employer."

"And who's your employer?" Joe demanded, glaring harshly.

"You heard him, Blondie, no questions!" The red-haired man snarled, speaking with a heavy Long Island accent. "Shut up and get in the van. Like he said, we only need one of you – and our boss didn't give us specific instructions on keeping anyone that got in our way alive... matter of fact, I do believe his exact words were 'use your imagination'." He cocked his gun meaningfully.

**Special Notes: **This is the third in the Beth Hardy series. The first two stories that should be read before this one are _The Unsolved Case_ and _Remembering the Years. _

**Email: **racqueloffanfic


	2. Chapter 1

**Email – racqueloffanfic **

**Cold Revenge**

**Chapter One**

Beth grunted as she dragged yet another box to the center of the room from where she'd put them by the top of the stairs. She wiped a fine layer of dust off the top with her hand, sending dust motes flying through the air. She sneezed and rolled her eyes. Having a runny nose didn't seem worth the effort she was putting into this little project. Why she didn't just chuck all of these boxes out the window to begin with and be done with the whole affair, she didn't know.

"What are you doing?" Frank's voice came from behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder and found both her brothers ascending the attic stair case towards her. In the past few months, her parents had had half of the attic converted into a loft-type bedroom for her, including a private bathroom, while the rest of the attic space had been walled off and left to use for storage.

Fortunately, whoever had first built the house had thought to run plumbing fixtures into the attic area, and the walls were already well insulated and sheet-rocked. All they really had to do was clean it up, throw on some fresh paint, install a few more lights and plumbing fixtures, and it was a livable space. They'd also been able to use some old furniture that had been sitting unused in the attic, including a bed, desk, a pair of standing bookshelves, and a few other items. All in all the addition had been a snap, and it left Beth with her own private space, something she'd greatly appreciated.

"Going through several bitter reminders of my rather depressing childhood," Beth answered, sending an annoyed glare at the box sitting in front of her. The box didn't respond but seemed quite content to sit and display its contents with a short summary written in black felt marker in someone's large, bold handwriting on the lid. Truthfully, that alone seemed to irritate Beth all the more.

"Come again?" Joe asked with a frown. He plopped ungracefully to the floor beside her, pulling a box towards him. "Toys," he read in confusion. He glanced at another. "Clothes." Still another. "Shoes."

"What is all this?" Frank inquired from where he remained standing, looking over the dozen or so boxes scattered around. All of them were sealed with clear packing tape, and had been written on in the same handwriting as the box that Beth was still trying to burn a hole through with her eyes.

"My stuff from Tim's apartment, courtesy of the South Queens Precinct of the NYPD," Beth answered, pulling the box in front of her closer and twisting her mouth in distaste at the label put on this one. It read 'photos'.

"Shouldn't this be in evidence lockup?" Joe asked, blowing dust off of a box, making Beth sneeze again. She gave him a reproving look and he smiled sheepishly.

Shaking her head, she replied, "Not this stuff. The police went through it, as well as the FBI and the CSI team – there's nothing in these boxes that they'll need for the trial. So they sent them back to me via the Bayport PD. That cop friend of yours, Officer Riley I think, dropped these off not ten minutes ago and I lugged them up here."

"You make being friends with a policeman sound ridiculous," Frank commented with slight amusement.

She shrugged and pulled a pocket knife from the back of her shorts. "When you've been on the wrong end of the law enough times, you sort of lose your ability to see them as potential colleagues. I respect cops – but I doubt I'll ever be _friends _with one."

"Never say 'never', Beth," Joe said with a small chuckle.

His sister ignored this and sliced open the package with quick but precise movements, before flipping the blade closed and sliding it back into her pocket. _It's almost scary how well she can handle that knife,_ Frank thought uncomfortably with a well-suppressed shudder.

He and Joe leaned forward to get a better look as Beth lifted the box's lid panels to reveal three ordinary, if worn-out photo albums. "Might as well start with these," she muttered, mostly to herself. She pulled out the topmost album, which was dark blue in color but otherwise had no markings on the outside.

Frank took a seat on the floor opposite Joe and both brothers watched in growing anticipation as Beth flipped open the cover. The first four photos were of Beth as a small toddler; one was of her coloring, the second of her playing with two toy trucks, the third showed her peering out from under a laundry basket, and the last exhibited her fast asleep in her bed, a familiar stuffed rabbit tucked under her tiny arm. In all the photographs Beth's cheeks were plump and flushed, her eyes were an even a darker hue of blue, she had bouncy brown ringlets, and an innocent smile stretched from ear to ear on her tiny face. Neither of the young men could hold back grins at the images.

"You were _so_ freaking cute," Joe said, only partially teasing.

Beth rolled her eyes, but flushed a little. "All little kids are cute," she said dismissively. "I was average." That said, she flipped the page.

Frank looked skeptical at that, but didn't say anything. He'd begun to get so used to Beth's dismissal of any type of compliment, no matter how appropriate, that if she were to simply say thank you he figured he'd drop dead of shock. Either that or the end of the world was upon them.

The next four photos were of Beth when she was around elementary school age. The first depicted her as being perhaps five, grinning at the camera with both front teeth missing. The second picture illustrated her as about a year older wearing a large helmet and riding a bicycle, a set of training wheels visible several feet behind her and both of her legs were skinned and bruised. The third picture showed her as yet another year older sitting at a rickety looking table doing homework with intense concentration, a barely visible bruise peeking out from under the sleeve of her right arm. The final shot on the page was a group photo of Beth standing with her classmates, a very definitive space between her and the second-to-last child next to her; she wasn't smiling.

Frank opened his mouth, but held back, unable to form the questions that were burning in his mind. Joe, too, seemed at a loss.

Beth seemed to be in a telepathic mood that afternoon, for she said, "All of these photos, with the exception of this one at school, were taken by a girl who lived in our building. She babysat me a lot for relatively cheap. She always wanted to take pictures of me, I don't know why. When I was really little, things weren't so bad at home – sometimes I had to be careful not to annoy Tim, or he'd yell up a storm and be mad for a couple of days, but nothing terrible. The first time he hit me… I was five. Everything changed after that."

Beth pulled her mouth into a tight, thin line and her jaw clenched – her usual indicator that she was holding back an unwelcome emotional outburst. Joe tentatively put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and let it all out at once. She looked up again, staring at the photos with a familiar shadow darkening her sapphire irises.

"I can see now why you said these were bitter reminders," Joe said quietly.

"Most reminders are bitter for me, because if I remember it…" She shrugged and shook her head.

It wasn't worth going into the discussion of how she dealt with her memories today. Her brothers already had suggested before that she see a professional to let out her bottled up emotions, but she had flatly refused and avoided the subject at all costs now. The last thing she needed or wanted was some shrink poking around in her head. She was secretly terrified that once it was all out in the open, the doctors and her family would decide she needed to be committed. She loved her brothers and parents dearly, but trust was an emotion she rarely invested in beyond a certain point. She'd been crossed too many times for it to come easily.

"Are there more?" Frank asked hesitantly.

"From here, most of these are school photos," Beth answered, thumbing through the book to reveal that indeed the pictures all seemed to be generic group or individual shots for elementary and middle school classes. She came to the last page and paused. "Except for these… I'd almost forgotten about them."

The last four pictures in the album showed Beth as a preteen accompanied by a boy and a girl of about the same age. The boy and girl were both sandy haired, and while the boy had green eyes with a splash of hazel, the girl's eyes were violet.

The photos showed the trio at a ballpark, sitting on an apartment stoop, standing at a hotdog stand on a pier, and in an old park on a swing set that had seen better days. In all of the photos, the threesome was crowded close together smiling or being caught in mid laugh – even Beth – although her smiles and giggles somehow still conveyed a forcefulness and strain, even in a frozen moment.

"These two kids," Joe said, tapping the photos' plastic cover thoughtfully. "They're Mitch and Charli, right?"

"Yes, that's them," Beth nodded and smiled slightly. "The goofiest, friendliest, weirdest, most nonjudgmental people I know. You could tell them that you want to form the first colony on Mars and all Mitch would say would be, 'Cool, but what are you going to do about the Martians? Are you going to share the planet?' He'd be perfectly serious, too. Meanwhile, Charli would get into a philosophical debate over the pros and cons of form fitting-space suits," She chuckled and shook her head, closing the album.

"What about this one?" Frank asked, pulling out a red bound album, bigger and more worn in than the first.

Beth physically paled at the sight of it. "I'd, erm, rather not go through that one." She took the album from Frank and put it back into the box, instead pulling out the last one which was green and was the smallest of the three. She gently stroked the dust off the top, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "This one has all my favorite pictures in it, few as they may be." Beth flipped open the cover, revealing that the album was more of a scrap book.

The first picture was an eight-and-a-half by eleven, and while a little out of focus around the edges, wasn't a bad shot. The picture featured Beth being around fourteen, her hair clipped into an extra short boyish cut, and her clothes were baggy and dirty. She was smiling, and for the first time in the newer photos, the expression seemed completely carefree. Next to her – his arm around her shoulders – was a tall boy with long legs, curly black hair, green eyes and a winning smile. He appeared to be about seventeen.

"Is that…?" Joe started to ask.

"Yeah," Beth's smile grew tender, "that's Andy. The last photo we took together before…" She swallowed and turned the page quickly.

The next several pictures switched between Beth with Andy, Beth with Charli, and Beth with Mitch or any combination therein. There was even one of them all together. The last picture in the album, however, was starkly different from the rest. This showed Beth alone, sitting on the parapet of an apartment building, turned towards the New York City skyline. The sun caught the glint of blonde in her hair, and the day was clear and bright. It should have been a happy looking scene, but there was something that spoiled the effect.

Facing away from the camera, wearing jeans and a halter top, the youngest Hardy's back was almost completely exposed, displaying her scars in all their glory. Her hands were clutching the edge of the parapet, as if she were preparing to push off her perch, like a baby bird trying to fly for the first time. The photograph was both beautiful and somber.

"Andy liked photography. He used to say that one day he'd love to be a professional; you know, with weddings, portraits, that kind of stuff… but he also wanted to do contemporary work too. Urban landscapes, places that you could only find the beauty in if you took a real hard look," Beth paused, her finger tracing the outline of the Brooklyn Bridge seen in the background.

"He used to say that I was the closet human example he could ever find of that concept. Something you had to look long and hard at before you found the glittering truth inside it… a diamond in the rough."

Beth sighed and closed the book quietly. Neither Frank nor Joe seemed able to speak for the moment, and that was fine with her. She didn't want to talk about it.

"All right, as long as you two are up here," Beth said as she stood, her tone now brisk and forcefully cheerful, "you might as well help me unpack this crap. I'll probably dump half of it, and give the other half to charity or something, but just to be sure, I need to sort through it. Come on, we don't have all day."

Without another glance, Beth tossed the scrapbook into the box it had come from and shoved it under the bed. Evidently she felt no need to go through that box. She already knew what it did hold and didn't. A past she'd never be able to forget or outrun, and broken dreams that would never happen.

"Spring cleaning it is then," Frank muttered.

"Why do we always end up with more chores when Beth's around?" Joe mumbled back before he bent over a box marked 'books' and got to work.

BHxHBxBH

Sometime later, most of the boxes had been sorted through, and what was to be kept had been put away while the rest had been put into a bigger box marked 'possibilities for donation'. There had been a small debate over whether to donate the items or not. While Beth just wanted to be rid of the stuff – which included some children's books, baby clothes and other various objects – Frank and Joe had finally convinced her that they should let their mother look through it to see if there was anything she wanted to keep for nostalgia's sake. So in the end, the box had been labeled just as 'possible' rather than 'definite'.

As Frank stood up from the box he'd been crouched over to stretch, the phone rang downstairs. Knowing Laura was out shopping and Fenton was with the police and FBI working on Beth's case, the eldest Hardy ran downstairs to get it.

He managed to answer it on the third ring. "Hardy residence," he said, a little out of breath.

"_Frank?"_ His father's voice came through the line.

"Yeah Dad, it's me. What's up?"

"_Good, I'm glad I caught you. Are you and your brother and sister busy? I need you all to come down to the station right away,"_ Fenton said, sounding excited.

"We were helping Beth upstairs so we're all a little dirty but we can clean up quickly," Frank replied slowly, his brow furrowing. "Why do you need us at the station, Dad? Is something wrong?"

"_No, nothing is wrong, son. But Beth really needs to be here, and you two should come as well."_ Fenton paused. _"Frank, the police and the FBI have apprehended Timothy Taylor. He's here right now in interrogation. We need Beth to make a positive ID. How fast can you be here?"_

"We'll be there in fifteen minutes," Frank replied quickly, catching on to his father's enthusiasm.

Fenton seemed relieved that his son understood the urgency of the matter. _"Good, meet me in the lobby as soon as you arrive. And please, don't mention what this is about to your sister. I don't want to get her hopes up, in case we've made a mistake."_

"All right Dad, will do. See you soon," Frank said, a little apprehensive over convincing his sister to come to the police station, while skirting the truth around the reason why.

"_Bye Frank,"_ Fenton answered then hung up.


	3. Chapter 2

_AN: To answer Sophie's question, no the second story hasn't been deleted. You can find it through my profile here, or look for it under the Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew section of the website__. Thank you for the reviews everyone, enjoy!_

**Cold Revenge**

**Chapter Two**

"I still don't get what we're doing here," Beth complained for the tenth time as Joe pulled his new model Range Rover into a space in front of the police station.

"You'll see soon, just be patient Squirt," Frank replied, trying not to sound annoyed.

"Patient? Have you met me?" Beth asked sarcastically as they climbed the steps up to the precinct door.

Frank threw Joe a sour look. "I swear it's like having two of you!"

Joe grinned back innocently. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, the grin threatening to turn into a smirk.

Frank only sighed and looked heavenward with despair. Many wonder how they will die – an accident, a natural cause, old age, all of these are possibilities for most people. Frank, on the other hand, knew his siblings would be the death of him; provided the bad guys didn't beat them to it first… he almost wished they would.

Stepping into the police lobby, both Frank and Joe noticed the way Beth automatically tensed up, like a cat raising the fur along its back when it sensed a dog nearby. Beth shoved her hands into her pockets and shifted from foot to foot as they stepped up to the front desk, eyes darting around restlessly, like she was mapping a quick escape route. The boys had a feeling she was doing just that.

"Excuse me?" Joe said, catching the desk sergeant's attention, "We're looking for our father, Fenton Hardy. He said he'd meet us here?"

The policewoman frowned and scanned the notes scattered across her desk. "I don't… oh, here it is," she plucked a paper from the pile and held it up. Putting on the reading glasses hanging around her neck, she scanned the note. "Your father was waiting out here but he had to go back into the interrogation room. He told me to send you to Officer Riley's desk. I assume you can find the way?"

"Yes, ma'am, thank you," Joe replied.

The sergeant smiled distractedly before the phone on her desk rang shrilly, demanding attention. She snatched it up and began typing something into the computer with the phone pressed between her ear and shoulder. The siblings backed away quietly before Joe and Frank took the lead in navigating the always bustling police station.

Beth walked silently behind them, face tense but blank. She kept her head down and walked with a clipped stride, remaining within reaching distance of her brothers. Every five steps, she'd look over her shoulder, scan the room then resume her former gait.

"You okay?" Joe asked as they rounded a corner of cubicles. Frank walked ahead with an air of not paying the least attention to his brother and sister, presumably so Beth wouldn't think he was prying, but Joe distinctly saw Frank's dark head cock in their direction at the question.

"Fine," she replied briefly, glancing at the uniformed officers with an uncomfortable look on her face. "I just want to see Dad," she added after a moment.

Joe squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and chose to hold off any questions until later. Whatever it was that had Beth spooked could be deciphered once they were outside of the precinct.

Frank, after mentally cataloging some topics to discuss with his father later, turned another corner and stopped in front of a slightly larger cubicle that was near the back of the main room. He poked his head in the doorway and smiled at the officer behind the desk. "The cavalry is here, Con," he greeted the tall, athletic man.

"Glad it is, your dad was getting concerned." Con Riley stood up and extended his hand.

Frank and Joe both shook it. Beth hesitated a moment before pulling one hand from her pocket and giving Riley's hand a firm but quick grasp. "Officer Riley, it's good to see you again," she addressed him meekly.

Con shot the boys a look. "Well at least your parents taught _one_ of you to talk to a police officer with respect," he teased, green eyes twinkling.

Beth blushed but said nothing.

_Beth without a witty comeback? What is the world coming to? _Joe thought, staring at his sister in disbelief.

Frank didn't seem to notice. "Can you take us to see Dad, Con? He said it was important."

"Sure. He's in interrogation. This way," Con led the three teenagers to a set of doors along a long hallway. There was a police officer standing in front of the door on the right. Con however ignored that door, and opened the door on the left, ushering them in.

The room inside was dark. A bank of computers and monitors lined one wall, a few plainclothes officers manning them. On the adjacent wall was a huge one-way window that looked into an interrogation room. Beth glanced inside and noted it was empty. In the corner opposite the window, two men were conversing in low tones, one with his back to the door while the other faced it. The former wore slacks, sneakers and a polo shirt, the latter a police uniform.

Con stepped forward and said something to the man in street clothes. He turned to reveal himself as Fenton Hardy, looking agitated and tired. He smiled wearily at his children. "I'm glad you're here."

"Dad, what is this about? The boys wouldn't tell me anything." Beth punctuated her statement with a glare thrown in her brothers' direction. Said 'boys' grimaced at the look. After all, no one in their right mind ever wanted Beth Hardy irritated with them.

Fenton glanced at the officer he'd been talking with, who Beth suddenly recognized as Ezra Collig. She ignored the surge of embarrassment she felt over being so forthright in front of the Chief of Police – not exactly the right foot to get off on.

Fenton walked over and put his hands on Beth's small shoulders. "Sweetheart, we need you to do something for us," he began hesitantly.

"You found him, didn't you?" Beth interrupted, though her voice was lower than before.

Her father nodded gravely. "We think so. We need you to make a positive ID, however. Can you do that?"

Beth thought for a moment of seeing Tim Taylor again after all this time, the man who time and again had assaulted and beaten her, and felt ill. Nonetheless, she swallowed back any tears and clamped down on the queasy feeling swelling in her stomach. She couldn't be a weak damsel in distress at a time like this. It would be a simple enough assignment and she could handle it. She could always handle it.

"Yes, Dad," she answered, making her voice as clear and firm as possible.

Fenton smiled and ruffled her brown hair. "That's my girl," he murmured warmly. Turning back to the chief, he nodded his consent.

Chief Collig made a gesture of acknowledgment and told Con to relay the message that they could bring the prisoner down to interrogation. Officer Riley left on his errand with a clipped nod.

"You gonna be okay, Beth?" Joe asked her quietly when their father moved off to speak to one of the officers managing a computer.

"I'll be fine. Don't sweat it," she replied in a muted tone, putting her clenched hands back in her pockets.

"It's not me that might be sweating," Joe retorted with his usual finesse.

Beth flinched. "I can do this, Joe," she gritted out through clenched teeth.

"I didn't say you can't. Just… remember that you're not alone, okay? Frank and I and Dad, we're here to help you if you need us. Just keep it in mind, all right, Tough Girl?" Joe gently pulled one of her hands out of her pocket and gave it a squeeze.

Beth looked up from under her bangs at him and sighed. _This guy could read a politician like a book, _she thought, half fondly and half in exasperation. "I'm okay," she said quietly after a moment's hesitation.

Joe pursed his lips skeptically.

"_Really_," she added. "I've faced scarier. And I have to do this. I have to face him. This is one monster under the bed that I have to scare away myself." She gave him a rueful smile.

"I know, Kiddo. Just keep in mind you have back up, okay?" Joe smiled encouragingly and she returned it, though more slowly.

"Yeah, I know Joe… I know," Beth answered.

At that moment, Con came back into the darkened room, closing the door behind him. He nodded at the Chief's look. "They're bringing him in now," he said.

Frank came to stand on Beth's other side, gripping her shoulder. She looked up at both her brothers and took a deep breath before turning to the one-way mirror.

Two officers, one of whom she recognized as the man who'd been standing in the hallway, came into the interrogation room, holding a handcuffed man between them. They helped the man sit down at the table, linking his handcuffs to the steel ring mounted on top. The officers then left the prisoner alone.

At first he stared sullenly at the table, head bent so you could only see his dark hair. After a long moment, his shoulders rose and fell with an inaudible sigh and he looked up, staring right at the one-way mirror with a vicious scowl.

Both Frank and Joe took the opportunity to memorize the man's features. He was perhaps in his late thirties, or early forties, but the hard lines drawn into his face made him appear much older. His eyes were coal black and narrowed, burning with a constant fiery anger. His mouth seemed to be set into a permanent, thin, hard line of a scowl. A small, half-inch scar decorated his chin on the left side.

Beth didn't need to study the man's face for longer than a second. One look and she knew who he was. Suddenly her knees felt like jelly, her stomach roiled rebelliously, and her eyes smarted. Disjointed memories flashed through her head – images of slaps, punches, kicks, burns, cuts and bruises. Every injury that had ever been inflicted on her by this man's hands flooded her mind and threatened to weigh her down.

She gritted her teeth, took a deep breath and looked away from the window. "It's him. That's Timothy Taylor," she said simply. _God even saying his _name_ makes me want to puke!_

Chief Collig nodded, "I'll let the FBI agents working the case know. They're in the conference room with someone from the DA at the moment. They'll be glad to know that we have our suspect in custody." He nodded at Con and the two left the room, with the younger promising to return shortly with some paperwork for the Hardys to fill out.

Beth, after managing to get her emotions under control, looked back into the interrogation room. Tim was staring at the table now, ignoring the mirror stoically, although he kept shifting in the metal chair as though he knew people were watching him. Most likely he did.

Beth stepped away from her brothers' protective grasps and walked up to the mirror, placing her palm against the cool glass. Her face was hard and cold, impossible to read except for her eyes. They shone with unshed tears. Questions kept running through her mind on a continuous loop. _Why? What did I ever do to you? What could you have possibly gained from this?_

"Are you all right?" Frank asked quietly.

She waited a heartbeat before answering. "I don't know... I really don't."


	4. Chapter 3

_AN: Thank you to those you've reviewed so far, though I'd like to get a _few_ more reviews, if possible. I'd like feedback, please! Plus, I know people are reading this, according to my hit count, so please if you're reading and you haven't reviewed, just take a short moment to do so. I'd sincerely appreciate it B-)_

**Cold Revenge**

**Chapter Three**

Beth watched the interrogation go into its third hour with infuriated exasperation. Tim had refused a lawyer, and continued to deny all the accusations thrown at him. She was _this close _to breaking through the one-way mirror and strangling the answers out herself; it would certainly go a lot faster than the democratic way in her opinion.

"Did you kidnap Bethany Hardy, previously known as Bethany Taylor?" Con Riley asked for the fifth time.

Tim didn't even blink, "Who?"

"Did you physically and mentally abuse one Beth Hardy?" Riley persisted, gritting his teeth.

"Don't know who you're talkin' about pal," Tim answered flippantly.

Riley tried another angle. "Were you once partnered with Fenton Hardy on the NYPD, shortly before Mr. Hardy's retirement from the force?"

"Do I look like a cop to you?" Tim had the gall to laugh.

"I'm gonna kill him myself if this goes on much longer," Joe muttered from where he stood beside Beth, echoing her thoughts perfectly. He crossed his muscular arms across his chest and leaned against the wall, glowering darkly at Tim through the glass.

"There's nothing we can do," Frank pointed out, "we have to let the police and FBI do their job and be patient." Nonetheless, he still checked his watch and started pacing the length of the monitoring room.

Beth drew her mouth into a grim line. "The cops aren't going to get anything out of him. They don't get it. This is how he operates; on sarcastic retorts and a flippant attitude. He'll never confess." She had to fight the urge to bang the glass with her fist.

"He'll crack, they always do," Frank said, trying to be reassuring. "Even if he doesn't, we've still got your testimony."

Beth shot her brother a disbelieving look. "What jury is going to take the word of a high school student over a grown man, especially one that formerly worked for the police department? Despite his denial of it, they have his record of service on file. Official documents are pretty damning," she added before turning back to the window.

"They also will have his dishonorable discharge on file," Joe mentioned hopefully, "that'll send them in our favor."

"Maybe, maybe not," Beth muttered darkly. "Forgive me for being a pessimist, but throughout most of my life things haven't gone in my favor. On the other hand, Tim seems to have the best luck. No matter how many times he's been arrested for drunk driving, or anything else, he always found a way out – some loophole or get out of jail free card. The cops could never touch him… or me."

Frank and Joe exchanged glances. Logically, what Beth was saying was impossible. No one's luck lasted that long. At some point, Tim should have been convicted for _something,_ even if it wasn't child abuse.

"How many times _has_ he been arrested?" Frank asked carefully.

Beth turned away from the window, frowning in thought. "I'm not really sure. I remember the cops busting down the door a lot and dragging Tim out, but trying to come up with an exact number of times…" She shrugged, shaking her head. "The memories blur together too much to count. There's probably a record of them all somewhere, I'm sure – paperwork is inevitable in any bureaucratic system."

"Well, if nothing else, we can always try and track down that paper trail," Joe suggested.

"We?" Beth asked doubtfully.

"Sure 'we'," Joe said with a small grin. "It's about time you learned the family business and we happen to be excellent instructors."

Beth raised one eyebrow, but chose not to comment. She glanced over her shoulder and sighed as Officer Riley picked up the file in front of him and left the room, leaving one guard behind in the room. A moment later he appeared in their observation room.

"That man is stubborn as a mule!" he fumed.

"You have _no_ idea," Beth muttered, mostly to herself.

"I can't get him to talk about anything," Con went on, apparently not hearing Beth's comment. He sighed and turned to one of the officers monitoring the recorded feedback. "Have we got anything we can work with?"

The officer shook her head. "Not really, sir. Nothing concrete at least. We have a few shots of his facial expression changing a little, but it's not enough. We can't prove anything with it."

"Damn it," Con slapped the wall angrily.

Beth sighed, sending her brothers an I-told-you-so look.

Frank resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Not a word, Squirt," he murmured.

"Yeah, shut it, Beth," Joe sent her a glare.

She stuck out her tongue maturely, before turning back to the window. She stared at Tim intently, her heart constricting with every beat. He'd claimed to have been her only family. He'd raised her, and then he'd nearly destroyed her; again and again he'd come so close. _How could someone be so callous? How could he think he hadn't done anything wrong? If only…_ she paused, an idea forming quickly. _Maybe he won't admit what he did to strangers, but he can't refuse the hard evidence when it's slapped in his face._

"Officer Riley?" She spun around to face the policeman, forgetting her former shyness.

Con seemed a bit surprised at being addressed so directly by the girl, but recovered quickly. "Yes?"

"I think I know how we can get Tim to confess."

HBxBHxHB

"No," Fenton said pointblank.

"Come on Dad, what have we got to lose?" Beth implored.

"Absolutely not!" Fenton refused. "You're not going anywhere near that criminal."

"Dad, no offense, but I lived with him in close quarters since I was one. I think I can handle fifteen more minutes," Beth replied dryly.

"Don't get sassy with me, young lady," Fenton said sternly. "The answer is no."

Beth put her hands on her hips and suppressed a surge of annoyance. _Sassy? Young lady? He's kidding, right? What is this – the fifties? _"Dad, you'll never get anything out of him, but I can. Let me at least try." In a rare show of affection, she took one of her father's large, weathered hands in her own smaller, calloused ones. "Do you trust me?" she asked earnestly.

Fenton's gaze softened a little. "Of course I do, sweetheart."

"Then please let me help. I want to put my past behind me, and that starts with Tim. Please, _Daddy_." Though she usually didn't resort to it, Beth pulled what she had deemed the 'Charli pout' – guaranteed to be ten times more effective than the 'puppy dog pout', at least according to Charli.

Fenton sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Why did I get two children with uncanny abilities of persuasion?" he asked ruefully.

Beth smirked. "I'd blame Mom for that one," she replied cheerfully. "So?"

He considered it for a moment longer. "All right, but I want at least two policemen with you at all times. Clear?"

"Crystal."

HBxBHxHB

Tim Taylor looked up, his face smug. "Back for round four, gentlemen?" he inquired sarcastically as two policemen entered the interrogation room.

"As a matter of fact, yes – but this time, we're playing a new game. One that I intend to win," Beth Hardy announced as she strolled in, a file tucked under her arm. While one officer shut the door, the other held out a chair opposite Tim's for her. "Thank you, sir," she said politely, smiling like a cat that had cornered a mouse.

Tim glowered at her venomously, and for perhaps the first time in her life she glared right back, but her smile remained while his had fled.

Tim snorted derisively, trying to cover up his unease. "Cop recruits get younger and younger," he sneered.

"I could say the same for gangbangers," she replied agreeably. "Of course, you're not really of that breed are you? No," she added, shaking her head. "You're not the type to shoot up a storefront, or sell coke on the streets. You're of a different class altogether."

"Oh and what class is that, Girly?" Tim mocked, leaning forward.

Beth didn't flinch. "The type that likes to beat the shit out of small orphaned girls," she replied steadily, her voice hard.

Tim recoiled back, like he'd been physically slapped. He slouched in his chair and glared at his 'niece' for a moment, before snapping his eyes to the table. "I don't know what you're talking about," he retorted crossly.

"The hell you don't," Beth snapped, sapphire eyes aflame with suppressed emotions. "You kidnapped me from my parents and brothers when I was a year old. You slapped and bruised and punched me until I cried, until I bled all over the floor. When that wasn't enough, you used your words and tore me down until I was nothing; you screamed at me that my mother died to give me life, and that my father never cared enough to stick around. You hated me. You _lied_ to me," she added bitterly. "My whole life was a damn lie, and for what? What could you have possibly gained from it all?"

For the first time, Beth saw a glimmer of something other than anger or indifference in Tim's dark eyes. "I never hated you…" he muttered. "I tried to – so many times I tried to hate you. But I couldn't."

"If you didn't hate me, then why? Why did you do this to me? Why did you screw up my whole life?" she demanded. "I could've grown up with my family. If you'd never shown up, I would've lived a normal life. Why? What did I ever do to you?!" She pounded the table with her fist.

Tim looked away, closing her eyes. "I can't tell you that."

"Why! Why can't you?" she cried, not caring that two tears slipped from her eyes. "You took everything from me. Why can't you at least give me the closure of knowing why?"

"They'll kill me," he murmured, "after they kill you."

She froze. "They? Who are they? Who wants to kill me?"

Tim looked up, his expression defeated. "I was hired to keep an eye on you – that's all I know. I don't know who they are, but they have resources; really, really good resources. Haven't you ever wondered why a social worker never called? Why no one ever asked for documents about you – a social security card, a will that made me your guardian?"

Beth suddenly found it harder to breathe. "What did they want with me? Why did they take me?"

He shook his head. "I'm the wrong person to ask. All I know is that I was supposed to kill you when they sent the order. And they _did _send it."

She looked up, "when?"

"When you were twelve… I was supposed to do it the night your shoulder blade got burned. When _I_ burned your shoulder blade," he amended. "I was psyching myself up for it – got as blindly drunk as possible – but I couldn't do it. I saw the fear and pain in your eyes, and I couldn't do it." He rubbed his face tiredly. "They've been pissed with me ever since, threatening to do it themselves. I was almost thankful when you ran away – it meant I wasn't responsible anymore."

Beth took a deep breath. "Tim, why do they want to kill me? What did I ever do to them?"

Tim looked up. "I asked them that same question. All they said was, 'ask Fenton Hardy, and he'll tell you'."


	5. Chapter 4

**Email: racqueloffanfic **

**Cold Revenge by Rae Prite**

**Chapter Four**

The ride back home was silent, with both Frank and Joe trying to come up with something to say, and Beth having nothing to say at all. Fenton had chosen to remain at the police station to "look into a few things" as he said. Beth personally thought he was just avoiding her and honestly didn't blame him if he was. Try as she might, she was having a hard time keeping her emotions under control.

_What did Tim mean? Ask my father? Ask him what?! _Beth thought, unable to comprehend what on earth it all was supposed to mean. _Okay, so obviously someone wants me dead – no big surprise there – but who and why? That's the real problem. What does Dad have to do with it either? All I wanted was a straight answer – to put it all behind me so I could move on with my new life – is that so much to ask?_

Beth sighed quietly, _apparently so._

"Beth?" Joe ventured.

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering…"

Beth waited for him to go on, and when he didn't for a few moments, she turned her attention away from the window to look at him. His eyes were on the road, but his mind appeared elsewhere. She was thankful that the roads were relatively clear of traffic today. "What?" she finally asked.

"Well, I just wanted to know why you were so tense back at the precinct?" he said eventually.

Beth blinked. Of all the things that had happened today, that seemed like a billion years ago and certainly not very important anymore. Obviously though, Joe found it important enough to ask. Either that or he thought it was the safest topic to venture into that would eliminate the stifling silence in the car.

"I, um, don't know," she muttered evasively. "I guess I'm just not used to walking into a police station as freely as you and Frank. Like I said this morning, I've never been overly friendly with cops, and they usually don't take to me either."

"Why's that?" Frank asked, joining the conversation.

Beth shrugged. "Dunno… it's the way I've always been. Not any particular reason." She glanced out the window and watched a yellow ladybug land on the window and crawl around, exploring the tinted glass while the Range Rover was stopped at a traffic light.

Frank and Joe traded looks. "Does it have anything to do with Tim?" the former inquired.

"Why do ask that?"

"You said yourself, Tim's been arrested a lot, but the charges have never stuck. Maybe that makes you mistrust cops?"

Beth gave him a look. "Frank, I'm a smart girl, but I don't know anything about that psychological mumbo-jumbo. You think you have a theory, just spit it out in plain English and be done with it."

Frank held up his hands in surrender. "No theory, just asking questions. It's all what being a good detective is about."

"Speaking of which," Joe interjected, wanting to avoid an argument, "Beth's going to need a crash course in being a P.I. if she's going to help us out on this one."

"P.I.?" Beth asked.

"Help us out?" Frank echoed.

Both looked at Joe expectantly. He shrugged his broad shoulders before he signaled and turned smoothly after a stop sign. "We _are_ going to find out what happened all those years ago, aren't we? I mean, I don't know about you," he glanced at Frank before looking back at the asphalt. "But I for one am not about to let some amateur assassins think they can try and kill my sister, set up a fall guy, and get away with it."

Frank sent Joe a warning look when he mentioned 'assassins' but let the matter go. "Look, Joe, I want these guys too, but I really think we should leave this up to Dad, the police and the FBI."

"Yeah, 'cause that worked so well the first time around," Beth grumbled irritably, "only took them, what? Fifteen, almost sixteen years to get this far; how much longer could this take?"

Frank shot Beth a sour look in the sun visor mirror. She returned it unapologetically.

Frank sighed. "The point is, this is really dangerous. If they managed to keep Beth hidden for more than a decade, then they're obviously not amateurs."

"That's all the better," Joe said grandly. "I love a challenge."

"You didn't listen to a word I just said, did you?"

"Nope!"

"Brat," Frank said wearily, rolling his eyes.

"Spoilsport," Joe retorted with a grin.

"Boys!" was Beth's final word on the matter, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "Why couldn't I have had sisters?" she goaded, mouth kinking up in a smirk.

"Hey!"

HBxBHxHB

Back at the Hardys' home, Joe laid out several items in front of Beth on her antique roll-top desk. She glanced over the arrangement of items with slight amusement. There was a magnifying glass, a fingerprint kit, a lock pick set, a pocket knife, and a digital camera.

"To begin with," Joe said with an air of self-importance, "a good investigator must know the tools of the trade." He gestured at what Beth had privately deemed 'detective junk'. "We'll start with the magnifying glass."

Beth suppressed a strong urge to roll her eyes or at least smack her brother upside the head. "I know how to use a magnifying glass, Joe – everyone does."

"Ahh, everyone _thinks_ they do, but they really have no idea!" Joe corrected, sounding more and more like an old schoolmarm.

"Oh, do they?" Beth asked, suddenly the picture of inquisitive innocence. "Well then, tell me, Professor Joseph, how _does_ one properly use a magnifying glass?"

Frank snorted quietly and shook his head, but said nothing. He sat on Beth's bed with his laptop on his knees, a legal pad beside him. Neither Joe nor Beth was entirely sure what their brother was doing as he intently studied the screen, making a few notes here and there on the pad, and occasionally breaking his silence with intervals of typing or clicking. After the first five or ten minutes of it, they'd finally left him alone to his own devices.

"As I was saying," Joe said, recapturing his sister's attention – for the moment anyway. "The _proper_ way to use a magnifying glass is not to hold it right up to your eye like a monocle. Instead, you hold it down to the object you're examining and adjust its distance accordingly until you have a clear image."

"Fascinating," Beth said, not sounding fascinated at all. She idly toyed with the lock pick set, examining the different 'keys' that were used for specific jobs. "I really have always thought these things are overrated," she said suddenly, cutting off Joe's detailed explanation of the pros and cons of keeping a camera on hand.

"Excuse me?" Joe asked, looking slightly offended. He personally felt that the lock pick set was the most important tool of all. Fenton had bought him his own kit for his fifteenth birthday.

Beth waved the kit around. "What's the point? I can pick any lock I want to with nothing more than a paper clip, or a small scrap of metal, easy as pie. I don't need a whole _kit_."

"Any lock?" Joe repeated doubtfully.

Beth looked annoyed. "All right, so I can't break into Fort Knox, but I _can_ open almost any common lock, even a deadbolt, assuming there's no extra surprises attached like delayed timer alarms, or secondary locks."

"And you figured out this talent when?" Joe questioned suspiciously.

Beth paled a little and looked back at the fingerprint kit, fiddling with a brush. "I uh… Tim locked me in my room a lot," she blurted.

"What?" Joe was taken aback. Frank too, looked up from whatever he was working on with a slight expression of alarm.

"Yeah," she went on, appearing relieved. "He locked me in, or sometimes he would lock me out of the apartment, especially when he knew I'd forgotten my keys. So, I would have to, you know, pick the lock to get back in." She kept her eyes on the desk, now fiddling with the camera. "Hey does this do video too?" she asked abruptly.

"Um," Joe said uncertainly. He glanced at Frank, but his brother had already gone back to his project. "I think so…"

"Can you show me?"

"Sure… I guess."

The next couple of minutes were spent on a quick tutorial of how the digital camera functioned. Joe found that when his sister set her mind to something, she seemed to be a very quick learner. She listened quietly and intently, only asking clarifying questions if necessary, and kept focused on the lesson from start to finish. He wondered briefly if this ability linked back to her apparent knowledge of several languages, which he'd finally gotten her to list off to him one day as including Japanese, Russian, German, Spanish, some French, a smattering of Italian, a bit of Latin and American Sign Language.

Joe watched as Beth took the small camera in her hands, flicking through the settings, and wondered to himself if there was anything his sister couldn't do. If there was, it was certainly a short list.

Beth lifted the lens of the camera to her eye and peered through, smiling. "Smile, Joey," she entreated impishly.

Joe rolled his eyes and waved his hands in front of his face. "Uh uh, if you're doing that you'll have to do Frank too!" He sat on the twin bed next to their brother, pulling the laptop off Frank's legs with one hand while the other gripped the older boy around the shoulders.

"Hey!" Frank exclaimed indignantly, trying futilely to reach across Joe to get his computer back. "Joe, I swear if you drop that I will drop you – out a window!"

Beth chose this moment to snap a picture, the flash going off in the dim room. "Ooh, I see the claws come out when technology is concerned, eh Frank?" She playfully made a noise like a cat meowing.

"I will deal with you next!" Frank said, not looking at her as he made a desperate grab for the laptop. Joe was now holding it above his head while pressing against Frank's chest with his other hand.

"Calm down, Frank!" Joe said with a laugh at his brother's glare. "I'll give it back – Beth just wants to take a picture or two, that's all."

Frank grumbled something under his breath about being busy working on the case, but finally sighed. "All right, all right. But just a few!" he added, pointing a single finger in Joe's face.

Joe grinned toothily and nodded. The blonde boy then took a mock chomp towards Frank's finger. Frank pulled back the appendage quickly, giving his brother a look. Beth snickered quietly, taking another quick shot.

"Would you quit that?" Frank exclaimed as he backed away from of Joe, "You're making us look like a bunch of Neanderthals!"

Beth grinned cheekily, "Aren't you?" She teased.

Joe laughed and put the laptop out of harm's way, "Not completely – I'm much more evolved than Frank, but I don't say it too often. It would hurt his feelings." He winked.

Frank smiled evilly. "Oh, is that so?" Tackling his brother, he dug his fingers into Joe's sides and tickled him.

Giggling, Beth switched the camera function to video and began recording. "So," she said above the sound of Joe laughing and begging for mercy, "if this is what detectives do all day, then maybe I wouldn't mind learning a few things after all."


End file.
